After We're Gone
by Lambystories
Summary: Damien and Pip talk about flowers and Damien's desire to live a human, supernatural-free life. (I'm so rusty with writing and this is my first Dip!) (Story and cover image by me)


"Oh, Damien!" a light voice perks in surprise. "How very nice to see you! What brings you here?"

The teenager in question regards the blonde before him, a bright and smiling contrast to his own black-clad and naturally dreary appearance.

"Just thought I'd stop by," he replies with a shrug.

"That's very thoughtful of you, Damien," the blonde boy says. He gestures around him with a sweep of his arm. "Do make yourself at home."

Damien nods in muted thanks, seating himself down in the grass with his legs crossed and elbows propped on his knees. With his cheeks cupped in his palms he looks to his friend once more, who was swinging his legs from his stone perch adjacent to him without care. "The weather's been nice lately," Damien slowly begins idle conversation. "Doesn't Lydia like to grow tomatoes and flowers or something?"

"Oh, no, Mom likes to wait until the very end of April, I think," Pip replies with a pondering look towards the sky, and Damien can't help but smile a little. His accent had become so Americanized over the years.

"She didn't want me to tell you," Damien says slowly, teasing, "but she wants to start growing flowers in your favorite color."

Pip makes a face of exaggerated disgust, and Damien can't help but outright laugh. "What boy wants flowers? From their _mom_?"

"Flowers don't have to be girly, Pip. And you _like_ gardening."

Pip crosses his arms, replying defensively, "She _likes_ gardening; I'm just a good son." He then sighs, tapping his finger against the crook of his elbow. "But I suppose she probably wouldn't want my help if they're _for_ me."

"Yeah, it kinda ruins the surprise," Damien says.

"_You're_ the one that ruined it!"

Damien raises his hands defensively, though his face is of blatant false innocence. "Oops."

The blonde rolls his eyes, mimicking Damien's pose with his chin in his hand. "You're horrible."

Damien simply nods and relaxes, letting his eyes slip shut as a breeze blows their way, gently rustling his hair and making his nose scrunch at the carried scent wildflowers and livestock.

When the wind stills and he opens his eyes again, a smiling face framed in gold locks meets him, mere inches away. Yet the smile doesn't quite reach the blonde's eyes, eyebrows slightly knitted in sour thought.

The two say nothing for a while, breaking their glances every so often to look at the ground and back up again. Damien finally exhales slowly through his nose, his friend unflinching to the waft of warm air against his face. "Would you want me to bring you flowers?"

Pip shakes his head, jaw-length hair only swaying slightly with his actions. Another gust of wind blows past them, but this time neither Pip's hair nor the loose fabric of his clothes are pushed out of place. Damien feels the cold air move him back against the stone, the grass tickling his exposed ankles and his own dark curls blown askew against his forehead.

His eyes sting and he can feel his jaw quiver. He hates being reminded. He hates that he can't feel Pip when the blonde's pale hands reach out to cup his face, his smile finally whisked away as if by the wind as he mutters softly.

"Don't cry. Please don't cry, Damien."

He doesn't know what would happen if he were to try and smack those hands away. Would he be able to move them, hold them? Or would he just go through them like smoke? He can't bring himself to watch as he tucks his face into his now-raised knees, closing his eyes tight when his forehead meets denim. Tears leak through the corners of his eyelids, and he can feel his cheeks and nose moisten through the muffled sobs and heaves of trapped air. He doesn't know—he can't _feel_—if Pip is still sitting in front of him, or next to him, or if he's holding him or has walked away entirely. Deep down Damien knows he would never consider the latter, and it makes him feel guilty for breaking down like this, every time he goes to see him. How selfish it was of him to ruin these visits with the few who ever visit Pip: a boy bound to the soil he was buried in. Because of his only friend in the world.

"I'm sorry," Damien croaks. He tries to continue through violent shakes and wet gasps. "I'm sorry. I'm—I'm so sorry, Pip."

"Damien—" But Damien shakes his head quickly, burying his hands in his hair. He still doesn't want to look. He only imagines—a hand stroking his hair, a kiss to his ear, a pat on the knee—because he can't bear the pain of not being able to feel him.

He attempts to speak again through trembling breaths. "Pip, I was—I wanted to be here. I wanted to be human, with _you_." He pulls at his hair, shaking his head again, hoping the act would scare away and contact from Pip so he could just_ see_ him, let the human realize his sincerity.

Damien peeks up, slightly, underneath wet and disoriented bangs to see Pip watching him, hand outstretched but paused in understanding. Or maybe fear, but Damien presses on, "I wanted to give up _everything_ to start over. I wanted to learn and work and _live_ like you, with you—"

A sob suddenly bubbles in his throat, and he drowns it out in his sleeves. "H-how can I ever go _back_ to the other life—Heaven or Hell—if you're not even _**there**_!"

Pip's face falls, unseen, his hands folding in his lap. "I'm sorry, Damien."

The demon looks up again, lips curved downward and tears slowly freezing dry in the exposed air. "It was my fault," he manages steadily.

"Damien… Accidents happen—"

"But we've been there so many times, Pip, we've run amuck in Hell so many times, I never thought—I never thought a soul would, w-would grab you and—"  
"Damien, please—"

"It _happened_ when I wantedto _tell you_ what I _**wanted**_!" It's a wail, one of which would sound demonic and threatening in any other given moment.

But for today, a young man looking so small bunched into himself and his eyes once again glistening, it only sounds boyish and desperate.

"I-I couldn't…" he tries to even his breathing and his voice, absently wiping his nose on his jacket sleeve. "I couldn't ask you to leave… your mortal life behind for me. I wanted to ask you if you would… _take_ me if I left everything behind. The same old thing I've had for centuries. Just to be with you."

Damien would have surely blushed, been flustered at the confession before, when it was _supposed_ to have been recited. Now he's suffering the circumstances of what could never be.

Pip's brown eyes regard him, slowly crinkling in a soft smile. "I would have been surprised at something so selfless of you." Damien snorts, wiping his eyes against his hand as Pip continues. "And I would have said yes."  
"But you want to stay now," Damien concludes for him. This part they've gone over so many times, and Pip nods.

"My parents have been so good to me Damien," he says. "I've never expected so much love from someone who adopted me, who may have wanted me for a trophy of civic duty or a tax break. I want to watch over them."

Damien had also argued this issue before, until Pip had shown him he could see his home from the cemetery hill's view. He followed Pip's gaze to where he looked at it fondly albeit sorrowfully, a soft yellow two-story with a brown roof, where a man and woman were often seen attending to the grass or their soon-to-be garden that could been seen as a small barren square near the side of their house.

"I know you can take care of yourself just fine," Pip laughs softly, turning back to him. "But please don't tell them I'm here. I want them to think I'm in… a better place."

Damien forces a sad smile. "I wanted to think that you were, too."

"I know," the blonde replies softly. "I'll move on when… they go, too. And you can come and get me."

"Considering their age, it shouldn't be too long." Damien regrets the statement as soon as it comes out of his mouth, a pang of guilt taking hold from the look Pip gives him, already so full of grief.

"Is it selfish to make you wait for me?" the blonde questions after a moment of silence, sincerity and hesitation in his hushed tone.

Damien shakes his head.

"I've been willing to put my centuries of hellfire and luxury behind me for you. I can live with them for a few more decades."

Pip smiles widely, almost looking to lunge at Damien for a hug. But he refrains, through his common sense and the demon's discomfort. "Come visit with them next time. They'll like it. They like _you_."

Getting the last of his sniffles out and his face dried, Damien sighs and stands. Pip follows suit, but where Damien hears the dry crunch of grass under his feet, the ground below Pip goes undisturbed. He ignores it and shrugs back at him. "I suppose I could."

Pip clasps his hands together in front of him happily. "Thank you!"

Damien smiles. "And I'll bring you flowers, whether you like them or not."

Pip smiles back, his own softening as he replies without protest. "Just don't leave them on top of the stone, I would hate to have to sit on them. And there's a nice man who always cleans them up for others when they wither—"

"I'll do it," Damien interrupts. Pip's brown eyes blink at him, but then he's smiling and pushing stray locks of hair behind his ears.

"That would be lovely."

Pip was so close to him, always so close after his death, and it hurt Damien that he was so untouchable. He wanted to part ways with a hug, a kiss to his lips and even his temple; to endure the flustered attempts and the mirthful laugh of a blonde frustratingly taller than him, who used to tilt his head to the side for Damien's reach—just one last time. He could feel those damned tears threaten to build and spill from his eyes once more, until Pip's voice had uttered sweetly, "I love you, Damien."

Behind Pip's own eyes Damien could see the same confliction in them, the same need. But also the understanding of Damien's sanity, how badly a touch—the lack of touch—would distress him. As thoughtful and selfless in death as he always has been.

It makes Damien smile wide, almost to the point of grinning if his tears weren't still a constant threat to spilling over. "I love you, too."

No hugs or kisses goodbye, just a few nods until Damien finally tears himself away back towards the cemetery gates. Before his view is obstructed by the downhill trail, he can see Pip's home. It's lit up in the setting sun, and so deceivingly bright for a household so sad. Pip's adoptive father—a jolly man of Mexican heritage—inspects his handiwork of a freshly mowed lawn. Yet despite seeming to be so busy, Damien notices he's never turned his back on the hill.

What Damien doesn't notice is the hand in his, of Pip's undetectable presence walking along behind him. It's better he doesn't know for Damien's sake; that Pip needs to feel him for his.


End file.
